


"Have You Seen The...Oh."

by itsmylifekay, WhatTheBodyGraspsNot



Category: Actor RPF
Genre: Drunk!Sebastian, Explicit Language, First Kiss, Jealous/Helpful!Chris, M/M, dialogue prompt, recreational alcohol use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-19
Updated: 2014-08-19
Packaged: 2018-02-13 18:59:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2161554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itsmylifekay/pseuds/itsmylifekay, https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhatTheBodyGraspsNot/pseuds/WhatTheBodyGraspsNot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dialogue Prompt Fill for:<br/>"Have you seen the...oh."</p>
<p>After their cast party disbands much too early, Sebastian drags Chris and some others to a nearby club, not ready for the night to be over. Too drunk to keep an eye out, Sebastian quickly loses everyone in the craze.</p>
<p>But Chris tracks him down--just in time to find him in the throes of a sloppy makeout session with someone Chris doesn't even know.</p>
            </blockquote>





	"Have You Seen The...Oh."

The last time Sebastian felt like this - just on the cusp of being tipsy, but not enough to really feel it yet - he had been at a house party. This...a _cast party_ for the first film he’s actually taken pride in being involved with, is not a house party. This is not the place to get blackout drunk. This is not the place to make eyes at someone from across the room and somehow end up in their pants not thirty minutes later. This is a cast party. A classy cast party. And he needs to keep that kind of shit on the down low here.

Which is why, as everything starts winding down and people begin making their way to the doors to leave, Sebastian finds himself checking his watch, dumbfounded by the sudden end when it’s clearly only 12:30.

Is this what grownups do? They don’t stay up until four in the morning pounding down shots and forgetting people’s names but still managing to get their numbers anyway?

Fuck that. He’s going to get stupid-drunk tonight if it kills him.

So that’s why they’re here - the nearest possible club that Sebastian can find after a quick search on his phone. He’d convinced Anthony and Scarlett to join him with little trouble. Apparently, they too long for the days where bad decisions are just another box to be checked off on the night’s agenda. Chris...on the other hand. Chris needed a firm push in the right direction. Literally.

Because even though he’s Chris Evans and not actually the uptight and old-fashion man he plays as Captain America, he still isn’t quite as enthusiastic about the entire clubbing experience as Sebastian believes he ought to be. Which is why he’s currently holding nothing but a beer and a glass of water, arms held up as he tries to skirt along the edge of the mass of bodies jumping around in the middle of the room. The beer is for him-- because despite Sebastian’s cajoling he has absolutely _no_ plans to move into the harder stuff tonight, and the water is for Sebastian-- who Chris believes could use something in him with an alcohol content lower than the car oil he’s been drinking.

He spots Sebastian still at their acquired booth and breaths a sigh of relief, just glad he hasn’t gotten it in his head to wander off somewhere that Chris can’t find him. The others are nowhere to be seen though, and he wonders if they’ve left already or if they’ve disappeared into the throng of people on the floor. Either way, Chris feels the need to make sure they’re safe. He doesn’t like it when things are so far beyond his control, especially when it comes to his friends.

So he makes his way quickly to the table, coming up in the opposite direction Sebastian’s facing and immediately asking, “Have you seen the…” _others,_ he’d meant to say others, but instead he just says, “Oh.” Because Sebastian is not quite as alone as Chris had thought.

At first, Sebastian doesn’t even hear him - is too distracted by the not-so-elegant way the guy he’s sitting with (Jack…?) thrusts his tongue into his mouth. (...John?) He’s not too sure what this guy’s name is, but that’s not really the point. The point is he’s drunk as fuck and horny as fuck and this James (?) guy is exactly what he’s been looking for since the cast party. And sloppy makeouts are acceptable if you’re drunk enough and the room is dark enough and you’re not bothering anyone with it. But then this guy leans back, and Seb’s not really sure what for until he follows his line of sight and turns, eyes landing on one particularly unamused Chris Evans. “Ohhey,” Seb sort of slurs, freeing one hand from Jason’s (?) clutches to reach out toward his friend.

Chris takes his hand but his grip is stronger than Sebastian had expected, voice just as unyielding as he says, “You’re drunk. Like, really, really drunk.” And then he’s using his other hand to pull out his phone and start tapping away with his thumb, never taking his eyes off of the two men in front of him-- but focusing mainly on the one currently trying to snake his hand into the back pocket of Sebastian’s pants-- as he starts to speak again. “And you are?”

The man glances up at him, eyes now starting to realize that Captain Fucking America is asking him a question. And Sebastian sure as fuck isn’t prepared to be dropping any names. So he says, with the fear of God now apparent in his voice, “Uh...Jake…”

Sebastian actually face-palms with his free hand. “Ahhfuck... _that’s_ what it was…”

Chris shoots him another steely look, slipping his phone back into his pocket and grabbing Sebastian’s other wrist. “Well, _Jake,_ it’s been nice meeting you.” (His voice says that it hasn’t been very nice to meet him at all, actually.) “But I’m afraid I’m going to have to steal your friend here.”

Sebastian’s face falls. “Wh--waitwhat? Why? Were’re we going?” Because Chris is pulling at him now. And what the actual fuck? He was right in the middle of a perfectly good makeout session.

“Sebastian, please. Just trust me.” Chris pulls at him again and this time gets him to his feet, stumbling and unsteady but away from the wandering hands. Jake is looking increasingly uncomfortable by the moment and all Chris can think is _good, stay away from him,_ as he takes most of Sebastian’s weight against his arm.

And Sebastian is pretty fucking sure he has no idea why Chris has that look on his face. That _I’m about to be very angry but I’m trying not to show it because I’m actually a sweetheart in real life_ face. Sebastian loves that face. What was the question again? “Chris…”

“It’s okay.” Chris says, head lifting to scan the surrounding area before starting to tug at Sebastian’s waist, trying to lead him along the wall towards the door. “You’re going to remember this in the morning and we’re going to have a good laugh about it.”

In the morning? Fuck that. Sebastian stops walking. Just fucking plants himself right in the middle of everything and turns in Chris’s hold so they’re face to face. “Let’s--no let’s laugh _now_.”

And is there possibly a better place for a tickle-fight than in the middle of a club? Absolutely fucking not. Especially when he knows each and every spot to hit to get Chris to laugh. Or maybe he actually doesn’t.

Because he’s not laughing.

Chris heaves a sigh and once again captures both of Sebastian’s hands, plucking one from beneath his armpit and the other from the general region of his side. It would almost, kind of be cute, what Sebastian’s trying to do, if it weren’t for the fact that he’s trying to do it at the most inopportune of times in the most inopportune of places. “Sebastian,” He says, trying to make his voice stern like that one judge on television even though stern and serious really aren’t his thing. “Come on. You need to keep walking.”

But Sebastian is beside himself with giggles. Because in this moment there’s nothing that he wants to see more than for Chris to actually fucking smile at him instead of being so grumpy. “C’monnn.” he pretty much just whines, “Chris, c’mon you’re so cute when you laugh though.” If he could just get _one_ laugh, that’s all he’d need.

The heat that rises up the back of his neck at those words is quickly chased away by a cough. Because Sebastian doesn’t even know what he’s saying, obviously, and Chris needs to be a good friend about this. For now. He’ll give him grief for it in the morning. “Thanks, Seb. But right now I just really want to…” he trails off, trying to rack his brain for something to say. “..take a walk with you. Outside.” Which, not perfect, but hopefully it does the trick.

And that sounds like a perfectly good option too, even if Sebastian craves for one of those adorable Chris Evans Smiles©. “Outside,” he parrots, figuring he can also smile if he wants to, so he might as well give him the biggest smile he can possibly stretch across his face. “Outside with Chrisss…”

“That’s right,” Chris says, leading Sebastian forward again. (Not to mention supporting most of his weight). “Outside with me.” The club continues to move and sway around them but they make it a few steps at least. So Chris smiles down at Sebastian, trying to be happy and encouraging and keep the other man moving before anything else can slow them down.

And yeah, walking is hard and all, but it’s a lot easier when Sebastian gets to lean on Chris. It’s fucking comfy too. So comfy, in fact, that Sebastian wraps his arms around Chris’s waist and hums contently because he could absolutely 100% fall asleep standing up if he gets to bear-hug Chris like this. Hey, now would be a great time to whip out some Elton John. “Rocket maaaaaaaaan,” Sebastian sings quietly against Chris’s chest, but he’s had enough experience to know that he’s louder than he thinks he is when he’s drunk. “Burnin’ out his...somethin’…..hmm HMM hmm hmmmmmm…” God damn it that’s such a good song. Why aren’t they playing it right now?

And Chris...was not expecting this. He’s been around a drunk Sebastian Stan enough times before to know a few things, like:

One- Keep all hard liquor away from him after a certain point because he will keep drinking and insisting he’s fine.

Two- His usually soft and quiet demeanor goes out the window and all conversations had with him will be at least partially heard round the world.

Three- His train of thought is about as easy to follow as a honey bee on crack

So, while a combination of all three could possibly explain why Sebastian’s randomly decided to start belting out Elton John in the middle of the club, it doesn’t contend for the reason he’s currently being subjected to a pat-down even the strictest of airport marshall’s would be proud of.

“HEY, d’you…” Sebastian mumbles, but still finds some way to be fucking loud about it. “Didyou take my phone?” The lump in Chris’s pocket is a good start. “YOU TOOK IT.” It’s Chris’s phone. “Oh. Nope no wait, no…”

Chris shakes his head and pulls up Sebastian’s left hand, putting it an inch away from his face so Sebastian can see his own phone sitting firmly in the palm of his hand. Like it has been since they left the table. Seb’s eyes cross a little then a grin spreads out across his face. “There it is!” Holy shit, how’d he do that?

“There it is,” Chris chuckles, unable to help himself anymore. Because drunk Sebastian Stan is adorable and goofy and truly one of his favorite things, but then someone bumps into their backs and Chris's laugh dies in his throat-- because drunk Sebastian is his favorite only when they’re somewhere safe and far away from prying eyes.

Sebastian pretty much just fully palms at the lump in Chris’s pocket. And--oh. No, that’s not the phone lump. That’s his dick. “Oh.” That works too. “Looks like Cap’n’s packin’ a little somethin’ somethin’ tonight.”

Chris's eyes go wide and yelps, flailing stupidly into a wall before finally regaining his senses. He scrambles to pry Sebastian’s hands away from his...more personal bits. “I’m not packing anything, you’re drunk and we’re going outside right now.” He says it all in a rush and then practically picks Sebastian up, moving them towards the door and praying no one saw that little exchange. Because _shit,_ their agents would kill them and the tabloids would have a field day and just, nope. Not a good idea.

“Hey know what’s funny,” because now is a good a time as any. He just grabbed Chris’s dick so what’s stopping him now? “Cap n’ Bucky’re totally gay for each other in the comics.” Duh. Duh duh duh, has anyone read them and not thought the same exact thing? It’s not fucking possible. “Fuckin’ gay as hell…”

And, somehow, Sebastian has managed to stop walking again. It’s like the man is made of glue, sticking to every surface they pass as if his very _subconscious_ is hell bent on staying in this club. Somehow Chris doesn’t find that very hard to believe at all. “Uh huh, that’s very nice. I’m sure the online community would love your opinion on that. But for that to happen we need to go outside.” And it’s turning out to be a lot more difficult than he thought, extracting a drunken Sebastian from a club he really wants to be at.  “Now, please.”

Sebastian doesn’t know what the hell Chris is going on about. Online communities. What a Chris thing to say. But he figures he should start being at least a little more helpful because Chris only says please like that when he’s getting pissed. So he starts walking again, only catching up with what Chris had said when they’ve passed the bar. “For that-ta happen? Are we gonna play them like they’re hot for each other?” Because yes. Yes, Sebastian can pretend to be totally in love with Chris if that’s the case. (It wouldn’t be pretending though shhh, only his mom knows about that.)

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Chris lies. “We’ve been playing them with a very close bond already.” In reality, he just doesn’t want to let himself think of the possibilities. Because those are places he’s strictly forbidden himself to go. (Because writing in a relationship means lingering touches, suggestive looks, and, if they’re going for the whole package, a kissing scene. Chris has gotten distracted on set far too many times by Sebastian’s lips for that to be a thought he can entertain safely in his mind.)

Sebastian snorts. “‘Very close bond’…” because isn’t that just the most pussyfooted way of saying something ever. “Hey where’re we going you never told me just...pulled me away from my makeout buddy...”

“Jake…” Chris says the name with distaste, bitter jealousy at the back of his throat for this person who knows nothing about the man in his arms but got to taste him anyway. “Didn’t realize you were so attached.”

Pff. Attached. What a load of shit. “M’not attached, just liked kissing Chris, god...”

They stumble to a stop again (or more accurately, Chris nearly falls over from shock and takes Sebastian with him) and Chris tries to see on Sebastian’s face just how drunk he is. If a hospital is possibly needed. “Sebastian, do you even know where you are right now?”

Jesus, what is it with this guy? “With you.” Because _duuuh_. Is he seriously asking him this question? “With you, Chris.”

“Okay, yup, we’re leaving right now.” Chris says, grabbing Sebastian again and hauling them towards the door. And all the workouts for Winter Soldier have made Sebastian a bit harder to manhandle than Chris remembers, but he’s fueled onwards by the fear of alcohol poisoning and potential coma. Because Sebastian is obviously _very_ drunk if he’s saying these kinds of things.

Sebastian clings to Chris’s waist even tighter, his legs feeling particularly jello-ey. The green jello. Or maybe the red one… It’s pretty hard to figure out which one when Chris is like, body slamming the door open like that and pulling them both through. And now they’re outside and it’s kind of cold and he’s like...57% sure Chris is trying to hail a taxi, but it’s cold, so Sebastian tenses up and dips his hand underneath the front of Chris’s shirt for warmth.

It helps. It also means that he can feel all of those crazy-ass muscles goin’ on under there. “Holy fuck, your abs.” And he’s in just such awe that he absolutely has to pull back so he can lift Chris’s shirt up a little and get a better look. (And feel.) “Jesus Christ…”

“Sebastian!” Chris says, sounding so scandalized that Sebastian has to smile. He pushes down the hem of his shirt and gathers both Sebastian’s wrists into one hand. “Don’t touch anything, just, see if you can count how many street lamps you can see or something.” He goes back to frantically searching for a cab, not knowing how long he has until Sebastian manages to get himself into something again. Or until they’re both spotted and everything always just goes downhill from there.

“Seventy five,” Sebastian says immediately. Because he doesn’t actually want to count right now and seventy five sounds like a solid estimation, right? Not too little? “Chris this’s boring as fuuuck,” he drags the word out as much as possible before shutting his mouth. “M’gonna feel your abs again…”

A cab pulls up to the curb and Chris lunges for it, hauling Sebastian behind him by his wrists like a prisoner and stuffing him inside before his mind can short circuit. Because _why in the world was Sebastian suddenly so obsessed with his abs?_ He gives the cabbie the address to his apartment and smiles apologetically at the man when he gives Sebastian a wary glance. “He’s not going to throw up or anything, promise. He’s just...really immature when he’s drunk.”

An impossibly knowing smile spreads across Sebastian’s face like wildfire as he glances over at Chris. “That’s-...’m mature enough-ta make out with people.” He waggles his eyebrows, forever impressed with himself that he has enough eyebrow control to pull that off.

The driver grimaces at Chris sympathetically and begins to drive. Chris pats Sebastian placatingly on the shoulder. “Sure, Seb. Whatever you say.”

Sebastian grabs at Chris’s hand, pulling him forward with another smirk. “Wanna see?” Because if Chris is going to doubt him like that, he’s sure as fuck going to prove himself.

“Pretty sure I’ve already seen enough.” Because boy did he ever. The  name Jake was just never going to go over with him the same way again.

Augh. “Party pooper…” Sebastian rolls his eyes - fucking _pouts_ \- then turns his attention toward the window like a disgruntled child, mumbling to himself as an afterthought: “Won’t even lemme touch his abs…”

And Chris just kind of wants to die. As it is, he has to settle for running a hand across his face and being thankful that his place is only a fifteen minute drive away.

When they reach Chris’s apartment, Sebastian has fought every single urge to reach over and touch him that cropped up. Because he’s a good boy. Because he can do shit like this. (But it fucking sucks.) Chris seems to be thankful for the momentary break, his head hitting back against the headrest and eyes closing in the cutest way imaginable. And really, it’s not Sebastian’s fault that he’s been majorly crushing on this guy since The First Avenger. He’s sure it happens to a lot of people who Chris comes in contact with. It’s just...Sebastian comes in contact with him a lot _more_. And that’s both a blessing and a really fucking awful kind of curse.

“Why’re we at _your_ apartment?” he slurs, managing to step out of the taxi all on his own.

“Because it’s closer, and this way I can keep an eye on you.” Chris explains, already making mental preparations for the night ahead. With any luck, Sebastian will pass out quickly and Chris can hold his nighttime vigil in relative peace, making sure Sebastian doesn’t trip and hit his head on anything, or drown in his vomit, or --by far the worst of all in Chris's opinion-- make out with any more perfectly random strangers.

Sebastian thinks he’s doing a pretty phenomenal job until he realizes that...oh...he has to walk again. Isn’t that fucking lovely. One foot in front of the other...

“C’mon, Sebastian,” Chris coaxes, looking back and realizing Sebastian is just standing there in the middle of the sidewalk staring down at his feet with an intense look of concentration.

Because Jesus Christ, who laid this sidewalk so that it keeps slanting back and forth like that?

“Pretty sure it’s not actually slanting.” Chris calmly explains, more amused than anything. “Pretty sure you’re just that drunk. It’s impressive, really.”

Oh. He said that out loud. “S’fucking...c’mere, I need you.” Sebastian reaches out with both hands, making little grabby motions towards Chris but never letting his guard down and looking up from the shifty ground.

And Chris tries to ignore the way those words tighten his chest, smiling tightly and walking over so Sebastian can cling onto his shirt like some kind of overgrown koala. “Better?” he asks.

Sebastian sighs contently, back where he wants to be. “Mm...yes.”

Forcing himself to look away from the adorable picture that is Sebastian Stan hanging off his chest, Chris puts his arms under Sebastian’s and gets them both in the door and then into the lift. “Now the floor’s going to move again, okay.” He says. “You remember what this is?”

Sebastian would probably hit him if he wasn’t completely plastered. But he is. So he just grins and chuckles quietly against Chris’s chest. “You’re a dick.” But he says it with love.

“Yeah well, I’m also the dick currently trying to get your drunken ass off the streets and into my apartment.” He grimaces a bit at how creepy that sounds but shakes it off. “Care to actually help me?”

“Mmmmnope,” Sebastian grins, and then oh shit yes the floor is moving again. Good thing he had that warning. “Wanna keep you here forever.”

“You want to stay here? In the elevator?” Chris looks appraisingly around the small space, wondering what shiny surface or flashing button holds such allure to Sebastian’s drunken eyes.

“Mmmhmm.” Because now Sebastian is slowly easing into that sleepy stage of drunkenness where literally every flat surface seems like an awesome place to crash. Including Chris’s washboard abs. “Wanna sleep on you…”

“If you fall asleep on me I’m still dragging your body into my apartment.” (And good grief, why is everything he’s saying coming out just so _wrong_ sounding?) “You can’t sleep out in the middle of everything.” There, that wasn’t so bad.

But Sebastian is conscious enough to hear every word anyway. “Wow…” he mumbles with an amused giggle. “You’re so dangerous-sounding…” And then, because you can’t say shit like that without saying even worse shit after: “Kinky…” Because yeah, he could get into that if Chris was the one doing it.

If Chris had a free hand, he’d be using it to rub across his face. Because this evening was just going from weird to weirder and becoming vastly more inappropriate than he was prepared for.

“Are you blushing?” Sebastian asks, leaning his head back from Chris’s chest for the first time in what feels like forever and looking up, but not before bringing a hand up and poking Chris gently in the cheek. “You’re blushiiiiiing.” God damn, that’s adorable.

And maybe he _is_ blushing, just a bit. But only because- “Only because you’re acting like some sort of perverted octopus child.”

Sebastian hums, that image doing nothing but pulling a ridiculous smile to his face. Perverted octopus. Tentacles… His brain has a lot more amusing things to consider, but then the elevator is pulling to the correct floor and slowing with a stop that’s just jarring enough for Sebastian to lose his balance, pressing forward against Chris’s mouth and his super soft lips and oh my god are they kissing?

_Oh my god are they kissing?_ Chris reels back and slams into the wall, pushing Sebastian away with one firm hand on his shoulder and trying not to look as panicked as he feels. Because that was- that was an accident. And it’s going to be okay, he just has to stick to the plan: get Sebastian to bed and lock himself in the bathroom for a really, really long cold shower. (That last part might’ve just been added.)

Sebastian blinks, staring at Chris and for the first time that night, is completely silent. Because wait. What just happened? Was that a kiss or was that an accident or _what the hell is going on_? “Uh…” he tries, but Chris is looking at him like he’s just seen a ghost. And that’s not right. If they were just kissing, Chris definitely shouldn’t be pulling that face. So… Sebastian guesses...that wasn’t a kiss. “...sorry.” And it comes out a little quieter than expected, but he didn’t mean to go bumping into him like that, even if he really _did_ want it to be a kiss so… “Sorry.”

“It’s- It’s okay,” Chris manages, putting out a hand to hold open the door before it can close. “You didn’t mean to so… You don’t need to apologize.”

But he did. He _did_ kind of mean to do that… “Okay…”

Clinging onto Chris as they walk feels weird now. Or better. He can’t tell. Because now he knows what his lips feel like. And if that’s not the most intensely exciting feeling ever, Sebastian doesn’t know what is.

They stumble their way into Chris's apartment but Chris doesn’t turn on any of the lights as they go, willing to risk tripping and cracking his head open just so he doesn’t have to see the way Sebastian continues to look at him, pink lips slightly parted and eyes glazed over. Like Chris is actually something he _wants._ Like that kiss-not-really-a-kiss-but-kinda had meant more than it was supposed to.

He looks the way Chris feels and Chris just doesn’t want to have to think about what that means right now. So he doesn’t. Just maneuvers the both of them into his bedroom and directs Sebastian onto the bed while he rifles through his drawers.

Because they’re both wearing tight jeans and button-up shirts and neither of those are great options to sleep in.

He tosses a pair of sweats and an old t-shirt at Sebastian’s head then turns to start changing himself, vaguely wondering if perhaps he won’t have to help Sebastian with all the button’s and shoelaces and things. The image alone is enough to have him itching all the more for that cold shower.

Sebastian whines pathetically from the bed.

Chris nearly bangs his head on the dresser and quickly pulls his jeans back up to his hips before turning around, not really knowing what to expect. But Sebastian is basically sitting the same way Chris left him.

Actually, upon closer inspection, Chris realizes Sebastian is sitting _exactly_ the way Chris left him.

He hasn’t even bothered to pull the pants down from where they’re hanging on the top of his head, or the shirt from where it’s flopped over his shoulder.

“Chris…” more whining.

Sebastian is acting like a small, upset child and Chris...doesn’t really know what to do with that. An unruly drunken Sebastian, he can attempt to discipline. A clingy drunken Sebastian, he can watch over until the moment passes. But this...Chris doesn’t know what to do with this. “Um,” he starts, edging his way just a bit closer. “Do you need something, or…?”

Sebastian puts on his best puppy-dog eyes. He even sneaks a little pout in there for good measure. Then he says, ever so frailly, “I need help.”

_Yeah well so do I…_ “Alright,” he says slowly. “Help with what?” He notices belatedly that he never did get his pajama shirt on. But it’s back on the dresser and Sebastian is still giving him that _look_ and there’s not really anything he can do about it now.

Yes. This is actually happening. Sebastian slowly pulls off the shirt and pants that are still hanging on him and then holds the shirt in his hands, both arms rising above his head like he can’t possibly do something like this on his own. He doesn’t even say anything - just gives Chris those puppy-dog eyes and maybe tries to get a few tears to well up too.

And alright then. Chris can work with that. It’ll be painful and tempting and haunt Chris's dreams for months to come but, if Sebastian needs to be changed, Chris can do that. And the sooner he does it the sooner Sebastian will be under the covers and asleep.

He steps up into Sebastian’s space, right between his obscenely open thighs (but what about Sebastian isn’t obscene, really?), and starts undoing the buttons on his shirt, trailing his fingers down until they brush the waistband of his pants and then trying to push the fabric off of Sebastian’s shoulders. And that...is much harder than expected. Because Sebastian refuses to be of any help and the sleeves get kind of tangled around his elbows and wrists and Chris basically has to wrangle each of Sebastian’s arms individually out of the fabric.

And Sebastian knows he’s supposed to be playing the damsel in distress here, but he can’t help but smile at the way Chris is trying so hard--hands only touching where they _absolutely must_ , and not an inch farther. (That part is kind of disappointing, but Sebastian figures he’ll take what he can get. Being undressed by Chris Evans is blessing enough.)

He even stops himself from reaching down and offering his own help. Because Chris is still in his jeans and it’d only be proper for Sebastian to return the favor. But he stops himself. Because...oh right...he’s supposed to not be able to do this himself. Right.

With Sebastian finally out of the shirt, Chris's task gets exponentially harder. Because not only is Sebastian now half naked, tracks of tan skin all there for Chris's eyes to drink in, but he’s also just in his jeans. Which Chris somehow has to chisel off his legs. (His skinny jeans aren’t nearly as tight as Sebastian’s and he knows how difficult they are to get off of _himself,_ let alone another person.)

He decides to start easy, take it one step at a time. He snaps open the button then pulls down the zipper. Sebastian’s boxer-briefs are bright red and somehow Chris is at the same time both unsurprised and shocked speechless. But they aren’t the focus of his attentions, or at least they aren’t supposed to be, so he tilts his head to the side and tries to figure out the best way for this to work. Probably angle and leverage…

“Can you lean back?” he asks, already getting his fingers into Sebastian’s waistband. (Of his pants, that is, he’s trying to stay as far away as possible from what’s underneath.)

Sebastian brings his bottom lip between his teeth before leaning back against the bed, rolling his hips and ass up off the mattress so there’s plenty of room for--...oh wait. Chris didn’t ask him to do that.

Oh well.

“Thanks,” Chris chokes out, trying very, very hard not to look down as he begins shimmying Sebastian’s pants down his thighs. The fabric sticks and he ends up having to alternate between pulling at the cuffs around his ankles and yanking the waistband down his legs before they finally make any progress.

For one glorious moment, the denim catches against something and Sebastian can feel his boxer-briefs start to slip down. It’s exciting and he wants to see Chris’s face and all, but he figures he should maintain _some_ level of modesty, and hikes them back over his hips, giving a little wiggle in the process.

And Chris appreciates the gesture, for the most part, it at least saves him from seeing anything he’s not supposed to see and even if he has the picture of Sebastian writhing on his sheets in nothing but a pair of red boxer-briefs forever burned into his retinas...he’s glad that’s as bad as it gets.

The pants hit the floor and Chris quickly grabs the pajamas, thanking the lord for stretchy fabric as he slips the pants easily up Sebastian’s legs and around his hips, snapping the elastic into place and giving one of Sebastian’s calves a pat before moving onto the shirt.

Sebastian raises his arms one more time, thankful when Chris gets the picture and pulls him up until he’s sitting comfortably once again. Except now they’re much closer - Sebastian being pulled right into Chris’s space. He does his best not to stare at the cute way Chris’s brow furrows in concentration as he works, tongue sticking out from his lips. Because this was fun and he’s mentally patting himself on the back for devising such a great plan, but he knows that Chris is just being nice. Being Chris. Being a fucking remarkable human being because that’s just the kind of guy he is. And Sebastian doesn’t want to be _too_ much more of a nuisance. So when Chris bunches the pajama shirt up at the collar and holds it out, Sebastian eases into it with little trouble, wiggling his body until the fabric lays comfortably over his chest.

And wow, if he knew how comfy this shirt was, he would have dicked around a little less.

Chris leans back, taking a quick survey of his work before returning to his own pile of clothes on the other side of the room.

“Thank you,” Sebastian grins, amused as he curls up in the blankets like a goddamn cat. Because suddenly everything in this bed is beyond pleasant, his head sinking right into the pillow and yes...that’s the stuff. Why isn’t _his_ bed this comfortable? He’s even got a really perfect view of Chris sliding his jeans down over his ass from here.

...It feels like someone’s watching Chris as he changes.

But not in a creepy-fan-stalker kind of way but in an I’m-going-to-do-that-to-you-myself-someday kind of way. And, considering Sebastian’s the only other person in the room, Chris can’t help the flush that spreads down his chest and lower, creating a hot rush of interest in other, less convenient, parts of his anatomy.

But Sebastian’s drunk and has no idea what he’s doing so Chris needs to cut that out right now. Like, down boy, seriously. He’s helping an ailing friend who he just happens to harbor some heavily suppressed feelings for, that’s no excuse to get weird about things.

He finishes pulling on his pants and runs a hand through his hair, now fully clothed again and ready for bed. If he had a bed. Which he doesn’t. Since Sebastian’s currently laying in it and taking up a whole lot of space.

“You’re sleeping here, yeah?” Sebastian mumbles against the pillow on cue, but not moving a single inch. “With me.”

And...Chris hadn’t really dared to consider that option. “Uh, I...was planning on heading to the couch, actually.”

Augh. “That’s dumb…” he’s literally speaking right into the pillow, face smashed against it, so there’s probably a good chance Chris can’t even hear him as he lets out a sing-songy: “Staaaay…”

“Sebastian,” Chris sighs. “C’mon, you need to go to sleep. Get your rest for that huge hangover you’re going to have in the morning.”

He lifts his head up a little, fixing his eyes on Chris, not even caring that his hair is probably resembling a troll doll at this very moment. “I will but I need you now.”  

Chris's eyebrows pull together in confusion. “What do you need me for? You’re already changed and in bed. I’ll turn off the lights on my way out and then you’ll be set.” The look on Sebastian’s face hasn’t changed much so he adds, “And I’ll be just down the hall if you need anything.”

And yep, there’s that pout again, puppy-dog eyes returning in full force. “ _Chris_ …”

“Okay, fine,” Chris heaves a giant sigh and makes his way to the edge of the mattress. He thinks longingly of cold showers and impersonal couch cushions as Sebastian, sleepy and disheveled in his bed, reaches out a hand to pull him closer. And if he dies this night, he wonders what they’ll put on his tombstone.

Probably that he died of some unknown heart trauma.

Because how does one define the effect of Sebastian Stan?

The light pull quickly turns into more of a tug, Sebastian’s strength returning with suspiciously convenient timing. The mattress dips with the added weight and Sebastian is lighting up with this grin that Chris has never seen before. But he makes himself comfortable anyway, as far away from the other man in his bed as possible, before prepping himself for a long night.

The need to contain himself starts right away, Sebastian rolling over and throwing his arm over Chris’s chest and a leg over his waist, an entirely too comfortable sigh escaping him as he rests his head against Chris’s chest and wriggles his hips until they’re pressed right above Chris's thigh.

“Your bed’s so comfy,” Sebastian sighs out through his nose, eyes already drifting blissfully shut. “You’re so comfy.”

Chris tries to work through the short-circuiting currently going on in his brain due to the fact Sebastian hasn’t left any space between them. At all. He’s pressed all up along Chris's body and his posture is something Chris's lower half is extremely interested in. But his proper head has enough gumption left to at least keep control and stammer a totally eloquent sounding, “I-uh, thank you?”

“Mhm,” Sebastian hums, giving one more wiggle before deeming the position comfortable enough. He sighs, pleased with pretty much everything. The fact that he’s now at that happy-pass-out drunk stage. The fact that he’s wearing the softest shirt on the planet right now. The fact that he’s snuggled up so closely to Chris that he can hear him breathing - his heart beating. He dips in and out of consciousness once or twice, feeling weightless. And then, when he honestly has no idea if Chris is still awake or not, he says, “‘bout that thing with the elevator…”

And Chris is just trying to cling to what shreds of self-control he has left at this point so he just stares up at the ceiling and goes, “Mhm?”

And he might be straddling some weird sort of threshold here, but: “I meant it as a kiss…” then, quietly as he snuggles even closer, “...just so you know.” Although it’s probably weird, he’s glad he says it. Because even if Chris thinks he’s too drunk to know what he’s saying, he definitely does - feels it in his very core - has since...well, for quite some time. (He’s too sleepy to get hung up on all the specifics.)

Chris lets the silence sit for a long while, just trying to wrap around everything that’s happened in the past hour. And, has it really only been an hour? Because it seems like longer and he’s having a hard time believing that any of this is real.

It would only be more horrible if he were the only one to have ever known this version of reality existed.

“You better remember that in the morning.” He says, stern but fond and oh so hopeful.

Sebastian smiles, and Chris can feel it against his chest. “I will.”

When the hours roll by, the morning and the hangover associated with it finally arriving, Sebastian doesn’t remember a lot of things.

He doesn’t remember all the shots he took with Scarlett. He doesn’t remember Jake. He doesn’t even really remember getting into the cab. But he does remember the kiss. He remembers every single part of it. And when he opens his eyes and Chris is standing near the window, still as ridiculously breathtaking as ever, Sebastian can’t help but smile.

He must make some small noise of alertness because Chris turns back to him, takes in his face with wary eyes and offers a small smile in return. But it’s not what Sebastian had been expecting. Not at all.

“Chris?” He asks, pushing up onto an elbow and trying to focus against the slight blur and throbbing in his head.

“Hey, Seb.” Chris says softly. “How’s the hangover treating you?”

“Not so great...”

“Do you-” Chris starts, then stops and takes a breath, something hesitant and hopeful and fearful all at once showing on his face. Sebastian wants to wipe that look away. “Do you remember anything from last night?”

And, oh.

_That’s_ what the face is for.

“You told me to remember,” he says simply, like that’s explanation enough. “And I told you I would.”

“But do you _actually_ remember?” Chris pushes, still by the window, a safe distance away from the most current unknown in his life. He’s preparing himself for the blow. Preparing himself for the moment Sebastian laughs and says, _‘No, not really. But fuck, those tequilla shots were good.’_

“I remember kissing you.” Is what Sebastian says instead. “Or, at least I remember trying to.”

Because how in the world Chris expects him to forget something like that, he has no idea. But if the not so subtle look of relief washing over Chris’s face is any indication, they’re both grateful that that’s not the case.

“That _is_ what you’re talking about, right?” Sebastian grins, lazy and sluggish as he stretches underneath the bed sheets. “Or are you talking about the sidewalk having a mind of its own?”

It’s a joke. He knows exactly what Chris is talking about, but there’s still that tinge of uncertainty that goes hand in hand with discussing drunken kisses among friends.

“Yeah, I-” Chris says, heart in his throat. “That’s what I was talking about.”

But now that they’ve reached the point of, yes, Sebastian remembers, he doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do. Where he’s expected to go from here. He’s never had the same smooth, easy way with words that Sebastian seems to and he’s at a loss for what to say.

“So are we gonna have to wait for another accident?” Sebastian is standing now, taming his unruly bed-head with a careful swipe of fingers. “Or can we do it ourselves this time?”

Chris watches Sebastian get up and move closer, frozen in place as he watches elegant fingers thread through unfairly perfect tousled hair. “Do it ourselves?” He repeats stupidly. Because surely Sebastian isn’t implying what Chris thinks he is.

But Sebastian just smiles gently, ever amused with Chris’s somewhat awkward yet entirely adorable way of carrying himself when it comes to these things.

That’s fine. He can show him how easy it is.

“C’mere,” he says, stepping into Chris’s space and then reaching up, one hand guiding Chris down as he tilts his head up. And this time, it’s definitely not an accident.

The kiss is slow at first, just a touch of lips to ground them both, tell them it’s real and they’re here and this moment is actually happening in a time and space that they’ll both remember for years to come. Then Sebastian kind of nudges his head to the side and slots their lips more firmly together, sliding his tongue along Chris's lower lip in a slow tease before placing increasingly strong pecks to Chris's mouth, his chin, the slant of his jaw.

“Ring any bells?” Sebastian muses, even though there’s no longer any question at this point.

“A few,” Chris murmurs back. “But maybe...I could use a bit more reminding. After all, I was pretty focused on getting your drunk ass back home.”

Sebastian chuckles lightly, nipping gently at Chris’s bottom lip. “And undressed.”

Chris colors with embarrassment at that. “You wouldn’t do it yourself!” He defends. “It  wasn’t my fault!”

“You’re too good to me…” Sebastian glances up at him, a little surprised by his own honesty. But it’s the truth. Nothing in the friendship agreement states that Chris had to carry his ass home. Or change his clothes for him. Or be an absolute prince about it.

“Yeah?” Chris asks quietly, unable to believe that his insufferable doting and hovering could ever be something someone _wanted._ Especially not someone as free spirited as the man in front of him.

“Mhm,” Sebastian hums, apparently finished with speaking at the point, because he fits his lips back over Chris’s with a blissful sigh, his arms wrapping around Chris’s neck as they bathe in the sunlight pouring in through the window.

And as Sebastian’s mouth takes one last lazy drag against Chris’s own, lower lip catching on stubble and fingers pulling at his hair, Chris is suddenly very thankful for tequila shots and sketchy clubs and Sebastian’s uncanny ability to _remember._

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading :)   
> Please feel free to leave a comment if the spirit moves you!


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